Ouch.

See those weird smoky areas underneath my kitty spine? They are indicators that I am a feline athsmatic. Yup. Cat athsma. The One Called Elena though it was just hairballs making me so frequently wheezy, and I don't mean George Jefferson's wife. This morning, when she saw I was breathing funny, the idiot finally caught on. That's when the humiliations began. First they put me in a box and The Other one drove very fast and very jerky. I made a lot of noise and scared the One Called Elena with this new panting face I invented, where I roll out my pink tongue and make my eyes all googly, like a hissing cat in a Chinese painting.

We finally get to the doctors and there are Pit Bulls and big dogs everywhere. Then the doctor had the nerve to tell me I was overweight (apparently 10 pounds don't sit well on three legs). Then they gave me an x-ray, a shot, and a decidedly personal temperature check. Then they charged The One Called Elena an exorbitant amount of human money, and we drove home, so I got to make the panting face again, which I enjoyed.

So now I am a three-legged, declawed, neutered, overweight cat with asthma. Pretty geeky, huh? The one called Elena is thoroughly freaked out. So that's cool; the day wasn't totally for nil. I'm going to go under the bed and consider becoming a plus-sized model. Don't follow me.

!!!!!

Your hair is on crooked, The One Called Elena.

Your Bra Strap is Showing, Stupid Human.

The following article, published in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, gives valuable insight into how The One Called Elena keeps me in cat food: http://www.postgazette.com/pg/05139/506696.stm

You Snooze You Lose, Dude.

Wake up, The One Called Elena! Stop pretending to be Rachel Carson at the Pittsburgh International Children's Festival this Wednesday through Saturday (18-21) and feed me! http://www.postgazette.com/pg/05135/503536.stm

Way to go, Bird.

Behold, in the upper right hand corner of the picture, a very endangered peregrine falcon who has decided to nest atop the big building where The One Called Elena used to go to college. I think the building is called the Cathedral of Burning, which sounds like a horrible place to go to school, if you ask me. Somewhere in this nest are a few coveted peregrine falcon babies, born last week, just in time for Mother's Day. According to The One Called Lissa, a longtime fan of the Three Legged Blog (okay, she visited the site once), there is a live camera feed that refreshes every thirty seconds, just click on http://www.paconserve.org/pittfalcons/index.html.

You can tell from those wet, wet rocks that it has been raining very hard here. I have issues with the rain, especially when accompanied by thunder. Whenever a boom of thunder sounds, I like to widen my eyes real big and stare at The One Called Elena like, holy shit. It is nice to be warm and dry in this big apartment. Haha, falcon heads, are you jealous, in your sad little falcon hutch? Its also nice to have one more leg than they do, but who's counting, really?

The One Called Elena is very busy getting ready for her play, trying to be funny. She needs to take a few comedy classes from that Richard Pryor. What a hoot! I watch him on On Demand whenever I have the house to myself. Too bad he doesn't have any cat jokes that I could send back to the mother ship and pretend that they're mine.

Speaking of mothers, The One Called Elena's mother and father will be in town soon, or so I've heard. The last time she came here, she said I looked like a junkyard cat. Grrrr. I will try the thunder stare on her this time and see how she likes that. Ain't nobody stares like that in no junkyard.

Do something, peregrine falcon!

You started this, "SEA-BISCUT"!

As someone who has no experience with horses, but who is (or at least used to be) a quadruped just like them, I think humans should be ashamed of what the human names they bestow upon them. That's why I am glad that the unlikely winner of yesterday's race had a cool name: Giacomo. One word--not two syllabically clunky ones-- that connotes something just a little dark and foreign. Good job, horse-namers! Last year's winner, Smarty Jones, was well named in a cutesy sort of way. And its a gem of a name when you look at the rest of the Derby lineup this year: Closing Argument? Sounds obstinate. Afleet Alex? Reminds me of fungal cream. Buzzard's Bay? Too carcass-y. Don't Get Mad? Makes me want to puke on the horse. Noble Causeway?? NOBLE CAUSEWAY? Ga? Ja? Wa? Don't the horse-namers know that when you do that to an animal, it assures that he will get the crap beat out of him at recess? C'mon guys! Think MAN O' WAR!!!

That being said, I have always liked the rather clunky and cutesy name of the 1994 winner, Go For Gin. Sure, it sounds ridiculous and mildly chemically dependent, but at least its active. Oh wait, I am a two year old cat. I wasn't born in 1994. Uhhh, MOving On--

So I have thought all night about this, and, while the humans are still sleeping, I post for you Charlene's List of Acceptable Horse Names:

Fast Runner
Eagle-eye Cobra Horse
Squirrel Warrior
Advanced Weight and Hairball Management
Rocky in Horse Form
Badass Muthatrucka
Eat It, Other Horses!
El Diablo

That being said, I am glad I am not a horse. I do enjoy running from one end of the living room to another, as well as racing the humans up the stairs, but that Derby looks unnecessarily taxing. Those bookies look like they have fun, tho. Much more my speed.

FIGHT ON, COMRADES!!!!!!!

What a bunch of yuppie humans woke up to this morning in Pikesville, MD:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7642437/?GT1=6428